Pesos And Facials Pt 02

Square deal.

Emma span in horror, the final straw for those useless legs. She hit the sand, falling gracelessly to her arse and set eyes upon her antagonist.

It was one of the photo-shoot's crew. A young kid, maybe of about 23. Though it was scant consolation, he did look somewhat concerned.

'Are you alright?' He asked softly in a kiwi-esque accent.

'Yeah', Emma wheezed.

'What happened?' He asked, looking out towards the boat.

Emma gazed after it too; a pathetic, almost comedic thing bobbing on the waves, drifting further, further away. A thousands pesos down the tubes. 'My boat...' she began, hesitantly, but suddenly an alternative story was developing in her head. 'My boat drifted off and I went looking for help....'

'... And you came across us,' the young guy concluded.

She could see him making sense of the sequence of events in his head.

'Let me help you up', he smiled.

Defiantly, Emma sprang to her feet. 'I'm fine', she panted.

Suddenly she was all too aware of how undressed she was. Like abruptly realising she was naked at a dinner party, she pulled her satchel in front of her and held her arms over her body, vulnerable and defenceless, that damn tremor only subsiding slightly.

The guy was getting a good look at what she had to offer, like he could see her faltering poise and knew he could take advantage. His smirking eyes pored over her, degrading her further, his thoughts obvious in his leering eyes.

Hands clasped firmly to that pathetically narrow strap, and arms pressed resolutely over her still heaving breasts, she endured her demeaning inspection until finally he spoke.

'Well it looks like you need a ride', he said, the lust still rampant in his gaze.

Still a little shaken, still more than slightly ashamed, Emma was unable to respond, her voice merely a choking breath in her throat.

'Follow me and we'll see if someone can fit you in'.

As the two of them got back to the small, rocky clearing (which a beautiful, black model had just desecrated with at least a pint of his cum), most people had gathered into two or three tiny groups, their chatter humming beneath the sounds of the coast. A few, Emma noticed, had even left. Her eyes scanned fitfully for the model; Kyle, but mercifully, he was nowhere in sight. She looked over to the rock where he'd been sat. There were still streaks of shimmering cum spattered against the stone.

Jesus, this guy cums like an elephant!!

Again she imagined herself gleefully showering herself under him, holding onto his strong thighs as he unleashed that hot, gooey chaos over her face.

'Guys', the young man said, tearing her back to the moment, 'has anyone got room for a stray?'

The remaining crew glanced Emma's way, most of them taking a second to appreciate her fine commodities. She pulled that satchel right across her, like she was shielding herself from boiling oil.

'This lady needs a ride back to town'.

There were a few smirks and sniggers, a lot of looking around as if everyone was waiting for everyone else to volunteer.

'Anyone?' He tried again. 'C'mon, folks-you're not gonna leave a beautiful maiden in the middle of nowhere are you?'

One of the 'undefined' people piped up. 'There're two cars and all this equipment, Pete', they said. 'It's not as simple as that.'

It wasn't looking good. Emma would need to phone Amanda and tell her she was going to be very late getting back. She took out her phone. On it was the untimely text notification from her friend that had earlier spelled the beginning of her demise.

The photographer, previously engaged in some conversation or other with a couple of guys; made his way over.

'Did you get a good view from up there?' He said with appallingly blunt sarcasm.

Already, Emma noticed, he was looking her up and down. She could hear her fingers squeezing tighter against that satchel strap. She tried a smile, but she felt it break almost as soon as it emerged.

'I wasn't spying', she murmured, locking gazes with him.

He was, in truth, a kind-eyed man, but was clearly a little more than irked that someone had penetrated his little circle of privacy. Understandable really.

'Her boat drifted off and she came looking for help', Pete said, offering Emma's defence.

The photographer let out a short laugh. 'Well, it must have been a bit of a shock then to find what you did'.

There was a gentle giggle all round. Emma could feel the tension lifting slightly.

'A little', she confirmed.

'And have you found the help you need?' The photographer, clearly the man in charge of things asked.

'Not yet, she replied, checking with Pete.

'Nobody seems to have room', Pete added.

Emma gazed around the set with slight unease. The men were all over her, checking out her glistening flesh. The two with whom she was speaking were no exception.

'You know', the photographer finally said, 'you'd take a great photo. Have you modelled before?'

She let out a quiet laugh and shook her head. 'No'.

'Well you should let me shoot you', he delighted, eyes wide with enthusiasm.

'Oh, I....' she was embarrassed, 'no... I wouldn't know what...'

'Yeah', the photographer persisted, 'you'd be amazing actually. You have great contours'.

Emma, whilst flattered, was completely unconvinced of the guy's opinion.

'What I

mean

is, you have the type of look, the type of

body,

that would work really well on camera.'

'It works really well

off

camera too', Pete added.

Again there was quiet laughter, but Emma wasn't buying it. She felt awkward and embarrassed.

'Really', she said, hands still clasped around her satchel, 'I'm not a model. I wouldn't have the first clue.'

'Well we'll help you', Pete chimed in with a smile. 'We can talk you through everything. Really, I bet you're a natural.'

It was flattering, all this talk of her model potential, but she'd never been in front of the camera before other than to say 'cheese'. She knew she was looking hot though and she knew, up until this little encounter, she was exuding a new confidence that was giving off powerful vibes.

'Ok, look', the photographer said, 'you can take my place in the car if you just let me shoot you a while. How about that?'

There it was; the deal laid squarely on the table. A ride home assured in exchange for a few smiles.

In truth, the idea of a spot of modelling, of parading her commodities, possession of which she'd only recently become aware, of being made into an object of desire, was totally intoxicating. To have a group of men pour over her appreciatively, to flaunt herself, was exhilarating beyond anything she'd experienced before. The ride home was merely a bonus.

Still, she played it cautious. 'Okay, just a few shots then'.

There was a visible air of celebration amongst the men, Pete included, which made her giggle slightly.

The photographer, who introduced himself as Max, began getting things organised, an excited busybody; keen to get things moving and not give his new starlet the chance to change her mind.

But that's where she was right now; on the absolute brink of walking right out of there, coming to her senses and realising she'd made an awful error, whilst at the same time desperate to discover what would happen, how invigorating, how sexually gratifying it would be to display herself before a gathering of adulating men.

One of the guys, a background, superfluous type came over and took her satchel; her last line of defence in this bay of testosterone. Her fingers held on to it for longer than they ought to have as it was whisked away. She stood there for a second, awkward and vulnerable, shifting on her feet. Thankfully Max put paid to the moment, coming over to her again, a camera around his neck.

'Okay Emma,' he began. 'If we just start with a few basics. Just loosen up a little and give me what you'd call an everyday pose.'

Emma let her arms self-consciously fall into a more natural place, but it felt like she'd just had her dress torn off by the door of a quickly departing taxi in which it had been trapped. She could feel her barely covered breasts in the sun again and her frame suffer the sting of exposure.

'Your props, Max', another surplus-set-man suddenly said, springing into sight.

Emma's eyes widened as she saw what the guy handed the photographer. In his grasp were a pair of the sexiest, porniest shoes she'd ever seen. They were a pair of red, PVC high-heels with kind of a thick, double ankle strap that sat at the bottom of the calf. There were glints of light chinking off the sumptuous, liquid latex.

Emma looked to the photographer for an explanation, slightly open-mouthed as the surplus-guy again disappeared.

'Okay, just slip these on for me would you, my dear?'

Suddenly, if this little ad-hoc photo shoot wasn't already courting qualification as outright porn, then it just took a giant step in that direction.

Inexorable momentum.

Emma was going to protest, to end her involvement right there and vocalise her conviction that events had taken a turn down a path along which she was unwilling to travel.

But she peered down at her flip flops, her pretty little toes wiggling against their soft, leisurely sole and recognised the issue.

She gave Max a wry, knowing smile and kicked off her beach footwear, taking the slut-shoes in hand.

Max, though silent, shot her his approval with an appreciative glance.

They were tricky to get on, tight and constricting but, as she reared up to perch herself on her new heels; a surprising, affirming transformation occurred. Not only did she feel markedly taller, which in itself was empowering, but it was as though her already peaking confidence, her very sexuality, went off the meter. She could feel herself grow perceptibly more potent as she looked out at the crew; who were worshipping her in all but voice. Her hands came to a measured rest on her jutting hips; her authority undeniable. The miniscule size, the revealing, frugality of her outfit was no longer a disadvantage, it was a weapon; a boon by which she was holding sway over proceedings. She was Queen; ruler supreme and this lot were her loathsome minions.

The exhilaration, the intense intoxication, was almost overwhelming. She could feel her heart racing, her pulse throbbing as she rode wave after crashing wave of excitement.

'Are we going to get started?' She smirked to a gawping photographer.

Max snapped back to the moment, suddenly realising he had a task to carry out other than to worship his Goddess.

'Oh, right. Yes. Of course', he stuttered, raising the camera to his eye after a last, lustful gaze at his model.

He was snapping away, face buried behind his camera. Emma was finding this easy all of a sudden; stepping around like a show pony and jutting out her assets like she wanted

everything

caught on film. Her hips felt shapelier, her legs longer, her breasts more perfect. The silky bikini was working wonders against the little flesh that it covered. She could feel her nipples; two throbbing thimbles of flesh and her pussy felt as though, at any second, it might spill out the sides of that narrow band of shimmering red that strangled it.

She was becoming more adventurous, more convinced of her role as the camera flashed away. She was holding up her hair and sending the lens the filthiest of glances, Max cooing his approval, begging for more. She was leaning provocatively over rocks, daring Max to zoom his lens into her cavernous cleavage, bending over and pressing out her majestic ass as the photographer shot her from behind, coming in close to get every contour. She strained and arched further, asking unspoken that he get every last inch of her. At that range, she couldn't be sure how much of her private areas were actually under cover but, to be sure as much of it as possible was captured, she bent a little further, spread a little wider, thrust that bit farther.

'Fantastic. Incredible. Amazing', Max was saying.

She could tell she was wet. The heavenly fabric of her bikini bottoms was dark with her water as it rode ever higher up into her pussy. She felt amazing. Powerful, horny, drunk.

Max was keen to see how far things could go. She was wondering when he was going to suggest they take things a step farther.

'How do you feel about modelling against Kyle?' He said, not entirely unexpectedly.

To be continued...